


restoration [kabal/stryker]

by mkships (judgmentfist)



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgmentfist/pseuds/mkships
Summary: another in the ex-revenant recovery series. kabal is still struggling with the consequences of his injuries and of the lost decades, and stryker is just trying to rediscover his place in the world. at least they have each other.kabal and stryker are one of my favorite pairs and i think, as an established couple (they feel that way to me) the process of returning to their old selves after the revenant curse, and rebuilding what they once had, would be both heartbreaking and captivating.- - -“I’ve changed, sure, but not towards you. Lemme get comfortable--” With effort, Stryker repositions himself on the sofa, letting Kabal lay across his lap. “We kinda missed out on twenty-five years of… life experience. It's going to be hard to readjust.”“No kidding.” Kabal mumbles, face still pressed into Stryker's shirt. “We're gonna be the most immature fifty-year-olds out there. Can't wait.”“I'm pretty sure that honor still belongs to Johnny Cage.”“Good point. And he doesn't even have an excuse. But he's a good guy.” Kabal unzips the hoodie, finally starting to warm up, and leans up to give Stryker another kiss, long and lingering this time. “Feeling like a little less of a freak now. Thanks.”





	restoration [kabal/stryker]

It's strange to be themselves again.

They both remember those first moments so well, the curse slipping away as vital air filled their reborn lungs. Scrambling to escape the underground lair’s impending collapse, they'd fled as swiftly as they could with the group close behind, carrying the terribly injured gods who'd saved and freed them.

Once they were finally safe on that fateful night, Stryker and Kabal had let the others sleep in comfort, taking a corner of the living room floor for themselves. They stayed separate, not even daring to look at each other, but sometime during the night, reaching out through the strain of fitful nightmares, their fingers touched.

They awoke holding hands.

From there, it was a slow journey of rediscovery. Their eyes would lock, sharing a silent connection of love and sorrow, but then the bond would break just as quickly, and life moved on. Or so it seemed.

They only found true peace after the move to Johnny's house in the city, generously loaned to the group of ex-revenants who now wander the halls like a pack of lost wayward ghosts. They're all settling in better than before, some more quickly than the others. Stryker and Kabal are, at best, managing. Recovery takes time. It always has, and always will.

Kabal no longer wears his mask, nor the breathing apparatus that used to burden him, but he is far from healed. He's taken to wearing long sleeves and gloves, preferring to hide his damaged self from the man he loved, and still loves.

Stryker simply wants Kabal to be comfortable, and this is the best he can do. He minds his own business most of the time, occupying himself with Johnny's library of action novels. High literature, they are certainly not, but he's never been a high literature kind of guy. It's a way to pass the time, and he's far from well enough to seek out a new life for himself. Part of him just wishes to stay here forever, floating in an aimless comfortable void where days pass without time feeling real. It's a preferable alternative to facing the facts of the past twenty-five years.

Kabal and Stryker do share a room, and talk on occasion when their paths cross, but Kabal has withdrawn into a shell of sadness. Stryker has tried to give him the space he needs, but that space has, in turn, begun to suffocate him. He's explored every inch of Johnny's house and the area around it, committing it to memory in case some other unfortunate fate befalls him and the curse takes his mind again. It is, he thinks, a reasonable fear.

Stryker finds Kabal in one of the upper rooms, resting against the open windowsill as the breeze ruffles his silky black hair. The burns didn't take that from him, at least, but he feels the rest of his looks are long lost. His eye is gone, blinded for life, and his upper body marred with horrible burns in a pattern that stands out, raw and barely healed, against the surface of his once-smooth skin.

Kabal flinches at the sudden noise behind him, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and turning to face the intruder with a scowl. “Who's-- oh.” His expression visibly softens, shoulders slumping. “Kurt.”

“Jack.” Stryker's voice is soft and quiet. “Or-- should I call you Kabal, again?”

“No. Use my first name. No one else is gonna. And you always did.” Kabal meanders over to the nearest sofa, sprawling out across it. “C’mere. I wanna talk. I'm tired of avoiding it.”

Stryker is surprised. Kabal has always been very impulsive and direct - one of his best and worst qualities, at the same time - but the corruption drained that vivacious spirit from him, replacing it instead with a mindless, slavish devotion to the will of Quan Chi. Could the lively fire in Kabal's spirit be returning?

Kabal impatiently pats the open seat beside him, offering a tiny hint of a sad smile. “Don't make me come over there.”

Stryker joins him on the couch, close but not too close. “I wanted to tell you something. That's why I came up here to find you.”

“Huh. Tell me.”

“SF has some top of the line burn scar treatment stuff. Medical advancements, the real deal. They want to offer you the chance to use it.”

Kabal's breath catches in his throat, a million thoughts flooding his tangled mind. He inhales sharply before replying, choosing his words carefully for once. “What would you do if I said no?”

“I want you to do it. You're not happy. I can't stand watching you be miserable like this.” Stryker explains with a halfhearted shrug. “It's for your sake. Not mine.”

“The idea's great. But I'm coming to terms with being a freak. I don't want to go through all that again after getting used to--” Kabal’s voice breaks suddenly. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, silently cursing his awful fate. “You know I'm never gonna go back to looking like the man you fell in love with.”

“What the-- what's that supposed to mean? You _are_ the man I fell in love with.” Stryker's stunned. He clears his throat quietly, collecting his composure, and lays a hand on Kabal's arm. “You know I still love you, right?”

Now it's Kabal's turn to stare through light grey eyes wet with sorrow. “You didn't tell me that yet.”

“You weren't gonna listen. You had that look in your eyes--”

“Like a caged animal. I know. The real me is still in here somewhere. I'm better today.” Kabal isn't good at being aloof. Taking comfort in Stryker's confession, he leans against his shoulder, a little bit of hope creeping back into his heart. “I love ya too. Never stopped.”

A question forms in Stryker's mind that he can't quite express. Wordlessly, he reaches for Kabal's right hand, gently tugging at the hem of his glove.

Kabal pulls off the glove, tossing it aside, to reveal a strong, scarred hand with a thin golden band on one finger. “Still got the ring. Kept it under my gloves the whole time. Whatever part of me was still _me,_ held onto it.”

Stryker is speechless.

“Babe… I thought you lost it when you got kidnapped.”

“Kano took it off me, but I searched his pockets after I beat him up. Still remember that shit like it was yesterday.” Kabal laughs, but there's no mirth in it. He does accept Stryker's hand as he clasps his own, intertwining their fingers. “This is better. Like it should be. And… tell SF I'm gonna do that healing treatment. If you still wanna marry me, I'd like you to be able to look at me with the lights on when you kiss me.”

“I do still want to, and I can look at you just fine. Hey. Take your hood off. If you're okay with it…” Stryker trails off. He doesn't want to push Kabal too far. He may be back to his old self, but he's still fragile. “You're still you, scars or not. That's what I'm with you for. Because of, uh, you.”

“Poetry classes paid off, huh?” Kabal laughs, genuinely this time, starting to feel far more at ease. They could rebuild their future after all. They will. “Twenty-five years and you're still no better at this.”

“Not like I had a lot of practice.” Stryker glances away bashfully, then back at Kabal, studying his face as he pulls the hood off. He still has the same high cheekbones and aquiline nose and lovely grey eyes, gazing back at Stryker intensely as he fumbles for the right words.

“Does it hurt, or are you okay?”

“Hurts inside, but not outside. Why, what were you gonna do?”

“I'd kinda like to kiss you. Only if you want.”

“Of course I wanna kiss you. I'm still your fiance, dumbass.” But Kabal's tone is gentle and amused, pulling Stryker closer by the collar to give him a soft kiss with scarred lips. He lingers there affectionately, then lays his head on Stryker's shoulder, breathing in deeply and just absorbing his presence. “Aw, you really haven't changed at all. I'd been so scared that you would."

“I’ve changed, sure, but not towards you. Lemme get comfortable--” With effort, Stryker repositions himself on the sofa, letting Kabal lay across his lap. “We kinda missed out on twenty-five years of… life experience. It's going to be hard to readjust.”

“No kidding.” Kabal mumbles, face still pressed into Stryker's shirt. “We're gonna be the most immature fifty-year-olds out there. Can't wait.”

“I'm pretty sure that honor still belongs to Johnny Cage.”

“Good point. And he doesn't even have an excuse. But he's a good guy.” Kabal unzips the hoodie, finally starting to warm up, and leans up to give Stryker another kiss, long and lingering this time. “Feeling like a little less of a freak now. Thanks.”

“I don't ever want you to feel that way. _Ever.”_ Stryker strokes Kabal's long hair, fingers tangling in it gently. “I really don't care one goddamn bit about what happened to you, the scars, any of it. I-- just can't. I look at you and I see the man I wanna spend the rest of my life with.”

“Your not-cursed life, you mean. Technically, we had plenty of time, but not the good kind yet.” Kabal playfully pets Stryker's short hair, now mixed with grey. “You look distinguished like this. I'm into it.”

“Thanks, babe. Your hair is still gorgeous too.” Stryker falters, trying to think of a smarter response. “Just-- ahh, I don't even know what I was gonna say… You want to sit here a while and do nothing together?”

“Couldn't think of anything better. I need to do nothing for a while, but I don't wanna do it alone.”

“Solitude’s best with a partner.” Stryker agrees, quietly kissing his fiance on the forehead. “I love you. Always will. No questions.”

“Love ya too. Feels good to say it.” Kabal agrees happily, stretching his legs out on the couch and laying back. “Guess we really did go through hell to get here, huh?”

Stryker groans at the pun, but can't resist a smile. “For you, I would.”

 


End file.
